Siren's Garter: Issue One August 2016 (20 page)

How did she talk to complete
strangers all night, but couldn’t carry on a conversation with a
handsome fellow?

“
What was her name?” Cheryl asked.
Stupid question! Why did she even care? Well, she was a
bartender…

“
Who cares?” said Pete. “I won’t
see her again.”

“
Why not? Maybe she had a good
reason?”

“
Cheryl,” Pete leaned forward,
lowering his voice as if to share a secret. Without thinking, she
leaned forward too, ear near his lips. “We were meeting for one
reason.”

“
Oh?” she said, whispering in his
ear. “Can I guess the reason?”

“
I’ll give you three. Bet you only
need one.”

“
Hmm,” she said. “I think you were
going to watch movies with her.”

Her voice came across sultry, as if
she were having phone sex with Pete instead of chatting with him
across from a bar. Cheryl shifted her hips. A small collection of
porno movies were hidden inside her DVD cabinet. She’d had a long
enough day, perhaps she was just telling him what she wanted to
do.

“
Kind of right,” said Pete. Now
his voice was husky and raw. His lips were so close to her skin,
the fine hairs on her neck tingled. “Good thing I didn’t really
bet.”

“
Maybe you were going to play a
game with her,” said Cheryl. Sure, why not tell him what she
wanted? No one ever got hurt with a little harmless flirting.
Especially when it wasn’t direct.

“
You could say that,” he
said.

This close, Pete’s cologne smelled
so musky and warm, only slightly overshadowed by alcohol and joe.
Cheryl stuck her ass out further, imagining what it’d be like if he
were behind the bar with her, fucking her doggy style.

She touched his arm with the tips
of her fingers. His skin was hot, the coarse hair smooth to the
touch. Closer, near enough to bite his ear. The tip of one breast
so close, all he had to do was reach up and grab if he
wanted.

Her lips moved, but her brain had
little control now. “And then strip her down like a naughty whore
and…”

“
Whoa! Which of us is drunk? I
forgot.”

“
I’m sorry,” Cheryl said, bolting
upright. Blood rushed to her head, flushing her cheeks hot. Her
fingers wrapped around her mug’s handle, and she brought the coffee
to her lips to hide. “It’s late. I’ve worked all day. Didn’t have
to go there…”

Pete held up hand and limp-wrist
waved. “No worries. Unless you treat all customers like
this.”

“
No.”

“
Too bad. I was thinking of
recommending all my buddies come here.”

“
I can only make one man come a
night. One of my rules.”

Pete reached into his back pocket
and got out a brown, stained and beaten up wallet. “I’d like to
know some of your other rules.”

“
What for?” said
Cheryl.

“
So I can play your game,” said
Pete. “What do I owe?”

“
On me. Phrasing… The drinks are
on me, cowboy.”

He laughed, color spreading across
his cheeks and down his neck. His smile was infectious and
disarming. Cheryl couldn’t help but share in the humor.

“
I must owe something,” Pete said.
He pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Just feels wrong
otherwise.”

“
What kind of woman do you take me
for?”

“
The kind I’d take home to
mother.”

“
Aw, how sweet.” Cheryl lightly
smacked his cheek with her fingertips. “But before that happens, my
apartment is upstairs.”

A tense, silent moment passed. Pete
folded the Ben Franklin in half, gaze downward as if pondering
life’s mysteries. Cheryl held her breath, wondering what would
happen next. Would he respond to her come-on in good humor, and
they’d laugh it off like good friends?

Did she need her toy
tonight?

Pete reached out, and shoved the
money down her low-cut tank top, inside her bra just above the
lace. Her heart hammered against the touch, his fingers warm and
rough.

“
I finish here in an hour,” Cheryl
said.

“
Can’t wait,” he said. “Gives me
enough time to sober up.”

“
I’d appreciate that,” she took
his hand and leaned forward as if to kiss him. “One more
thing.”

“
Anything.”

“
What’s her name?”

“
Really? Why?”

“
Just tell me.”

“
Brenda,” he said.

“
I promise one thing,” said
Cheryl. “By the end of the night, you won’t remember her
name.”

3

The next hour passed uneventfully,
but tense. Cheryl cleaned, taking breaks only to stretch her aching
back and legs now and then. A hot shower would hit the spot, but
she couldn’t help but think about the spot she hoped Pete would
hit.

He used the restroom twice, and
drank two more cups of bitter sugar-filled coffee. He talked with
Bob the bouncer, watched the late night talk show on the big screen
TV, and relaxed in a way he hadn’t earlier. Before the coffee, he’d
been either slouching or sitting upright as if a pole had been
shoved in his ass. Now he was poised, confident, shoulders thrown
back, but at ease.

Cheryl tried hard not to stare at
him. Staying busy helped. There was a floor to mop, glassware to
get to the dishwasher, prep work for the next shift.

Then she’d take a sip from her now
cold and stale coffee, and stare at Pete through the mirror.
Watching him laugh at the TV, dump more sugar into his java, run
his fingers through his thick hair.

And then she’d see Bob in the
mirror too, shaking his bald head and chuckling. He worked fast, a
skip to his step, taking out trash and wiping down tables as if
giant red devil were lashing him to move ever quicker. Maybe he had
someone waiting for him at home.

The whole time, Cheryl
wondered:
Would Pete mind if I showered
first? Could I get him into the shower with me? Do I want to do
that? Should I shave my twat? Would he like that?

The hour dragged on for an eternity
of questions with no answers, and then it ended. The last drunkards
left. Bob bid her a good night with a knowing wink. Cheryl tossed
the coffee mugs on the dish-line for the morning crew.

“
You ready?” she asked, keys in
hand.

“
What do you think I was doing in
the bathroom?” Pete said.

“
Draining the booze out of your
system.” She locked the front doors and punched in the code on the
pad for the security system. “And that better be all you drained,
mister.”

He shrugged, hands in his front
jeans pockets. “It’s mostly gone.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes and yanked
one hand out of his pocket. His palm was warm and sweaty. She led
him through the kitchen, past the ripe smells of burnt meat and
fried food, up the back stairs with the creaky steps, unlocked her
apartment door, and pushed him inside.

“
Mi casa, su casa,” she said,
waving one arm gracefully about.

“
Lovely place,” he said. “Not what
I expected above a bar.”

“
What you expected? Lava lamps and
shaggy green carpet?”

When first moving in, that had been
what the place looked like. Since, she’d blackmailed Robert into
painting the walls and putting down a cream colored carpet, giving
the old hangout a clean and fresh, homey smell. Not an ounce of
remorse passed her brain, since the apartment needed a remodel to
match the downstairs renovations.

Cheryl kicked off her tennis shoes
at the door, and Pete did the same. The main room was small and
cozy, big enough for a three-person sofa, a TV, some tables, and a
whole lot of books.

Pete pointed at the bookcases
lining the wall adjacent to her thirty inch TV. “More like, I
didn’t expect a library of law textbooks.”

“
Oh, you know. Girl’s got to have
hobbies.”

“
So you’re a law student?” he
said.

“
Cliche.”

“
But awesome.” Pete’s dark,
Italian eyes lit up. “Guess you weren’t joking about being in
court.”

“
I’m second year. With luck, I
won’t need the bartending gig much longer.”

“
Good,” he said. “I mean, for you.
I did similar stuff when I was a student. Waiter, retail clerk,
other things I don’t want to mention.”

“
Oh?” Cheryl dropped her keys in
the crystal ashtray, on the hickory hutch behind the sofa.
“Anything I’ll see you in court for?”

“
Naw, nothing like that. Just
didn’t care for those jobs.”

She yanked on his dress shirt, the
silky smooth fabric slick under her fingers, and maneuvered him to
the sofa. One leg folded up beneath her, she sat first. He followed
suit, tilted away from her at an angle.

“
What do you do now?” Cheryl
didn’t entirely let go of his shirt, his chest and ab muscles firm
under her touch. Pete tensed when she wandered near his
belt.

“
I own Eighth Street Books,” he
said, clutching her hands in his. “Not far from your
school.”

“
Really? Do you carry law books?
Maybe I’ll stop by sometime.”

“
Maybe I’d like that.”

“
Maybe?” Cheryl inched closer,
still keeping a safe distance.

“
Well, assuming you don’t kill me
tonight. Otherwise, yes.”

“
What if I kill you only a little
bit?” Closer. Enough to sneak a peck on the lips if she chose. Far
away enough to retreat if she creeped him out too much.

“
La petit mort?” he
said.

“
Oiou
,” she said, eyes half shut,
lips so very near his. Electricity fizzled between them.

Pete cupped a hand behind her head,
bringing her the rest of the way.

He kissed her first.

A sweet, gentle peck, followed by
the press of wet lips and his tongue. Blood rushing to her head,
Cheryl shivered in the excitement. Every nerve raw and frayed, she
loosened to the rhythm of his kissing.

It had been far too long since
she’d last been touched like this.

Fumbling about with limb and body
positions, she climbed onto Pete, into his lap, her legs straddling
his waist. She pinned him to the couch. No escape for him now. Pete
wrapped his arms around her torso, bringing her into his warmth,
like a cocoon.

Lips locked, fingers shaking,
Cheryl teased the buttons of his shirt, not quite getting two
undone. The skin underneath was smooth like polished glass and
burnt fiery hot. Shaking with frustration, Cheryl pushed herself
away. She hadn’t noticed she stopped breathing. Each pant hurt like
a rough tickle.

“
This,” she said. “This is your
last chance. To escape.”

Pete grabbed her forearms, sliding
his hands up the dragons’ bodies.

“
Which way to the bedroom?” he
said.

4

Cheryl dragged Pete into her
bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt along the way, as best she could at
any rate. She hit the light-switch with her elbow and yanked off
her top.

The room was just big enough for a
queen size bed and a night table. It smelled clean, the floor had
been vacuumed not long ago, and she’d made the bed this morning.
Not bad for an unplanned one-nighter.

She pulled back the bed
covers.

The curtains were still open. She
went to the window, fingers on the drawstring to close the blinds.
Outside, the full moon shone bright.

Pete touched her shoulder blades,
tracing the curved lines of dragon tails to her arms. He pushed her
hair out of the way, and kissed her neck, right below the ear. A
tingly, raw sensation settled into the pit of her stomach and
spread out across her body, into her limbs.

Stranger things happened on full
moon nights.

Cheryl dropped the blinds and
closed the curtains. Half turning, she wrapped her arms around his
neck and pulled his dress shirt down his shoulders. Pete pulled her
in, kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

A belt buckle loosened and rattled.
Cheryl dug her fingernails into his hair, yanking and pulling his
head about to kiss him deeper. A zipper unzipped. Pants dropped to
the floor. Silky boxers rubbed against her bare stomach.

Pete was already hard. The tip was
wet.

He pushed her to the bed. Cheryl
gasped for breath, undoing her own belt buckle. Eager, sweating,
fingers not entirely functioning right. Pete helped her with the
zipper and yanked off the tight jeans one leg at a time. The black
lace panties slid off too.

She reached out and pulled down his
boxers. His cock flopped out, springing at attention. Pete was just
the right size, above average, a big mushroom head, a tight ball
sack.

Cheryl clung to him, legs wrapped
around his. Sucking and licking his nipples, she stroked him one
handed, gliding gently up and down his shaft. She stroked the tip,
feeling the ridges and the hot, sticky precum pouring out of him.
Pete shivered and gasped and pulled her hair.